


The Pretender: The Administration

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The Pretender (TV), The West Wing
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-10
Updated: 2009-02-10
Packaged: 2019-05-15 14:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14792231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: As a child, Jarod saw the situation, made the call, and the plan was set. Now a man, Jarod will have to find a way around his perfect scenario in time to save President Bartlet. Welcome to the Administration.





	The Pretender: The Administration

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

The Pretender: The Administration  
by Dash Nolan

A Sudden Arboreal Stop

Sharp footsteps echoed through spacious lobbies, their sound demanding respect while presenting intimidation. Miss Parker traversed the Centre's Blue Cove locale at her usual determined pace, practically radiating authority. Between the look in her eye and the haste with which she moved, it was understandable why even the armed Sweeper agents were stopping to allow her to pass. They knew what she was up to, for she had been ferociously chasing the same task for nearly two years. Had it taken any of the rest of them more than a month to bring in a target, they'd be reassigned in a heartbeat. However, circumstances beyond Parker's control made her lack of progress over the past twenty-seven months understandable. They certainly didn't envy her.

The doors to the Centre's information services department parted silently at Miss Parker's command. She could make the trek from her office to Mr. Broots' terminal room on instinct by now, and she assumed it was a similar situation for her team member, Sydney. While she hated to admit it, the computer programmer and the psychologist had become the closest she'd had to family in quite a long time. She still couldn't decide if that was a positive thing, but it certainly didn't appear to be helping her career.

Miss Parker casually pushed aside the door and stepped into what could charitably be called Broots' office. In reality it was simply a drearily-lit computer terminal access room, but her personal hacker had made the room his. Everywhere else in the massive Delaware complex, Broots was like a shy child who was simply sorry for intruding on everyone else's place of work. But in here, he could do everything from tracking down a small personal jet on the other side of the globe to swiping a business mogul's entire digital fortune in minutes. In here, Broots had control.

At least until she walked in the door.

"Broots," Parker said.

The thin, prematurely-balding computer programmer apparently didn't hear his name as he continued to speak into the telephone's receiver.

"Really, Honey? That's great! So, what are you and Grandma going to do this afterno-"  
"Broots!"

He nearly tossed the phone clear into the air out of shock. Turning to face his virtual boss, Broots shyly nodded and spoke quietly into the phone.

"Debbie, sweetie, I'm going to have to call you back later, okay? Be good for Granny."

Miss Parker casually made her way to Broots' desk, lifting the phone out of his grasp and back onto its cradle. Cigarette in hand, she turned to lean against the edge of the computer desk.

"Good to hear the munchkin is doing so well." Parker remarked, the sarcasm thicker than the smoke she exhaled.

"What, uh, what do you need," Broots asked as he spun to face the trio of computer monitors.

"A vacation, a raise, and a personal Sweeper agent more intelligent than my neighbor's Doberman." 

"I'm sorry?"

Miss Parker's frustration was easily visible. "Jarod, Broots! Where the hell is he?"

"Oh!" The programmer immediately began typing into his console's custom keyboard, windows soaring by on his multiple monitors. "Well, after he won that Motocross competition in Maine, a tracer team was able to follow his trail for several days as he gradually made his way south. Unfortunately, as you know, they lost his scent around Newark." Broots input a few more commands before continuing. "Considering that he seems to be following a rather steady path along the coast and his rate of travel, I've narrowed his likely location down to the Chesapeake Bay area."

Parker inhaled deeply from the coffin nail between her fingers before turning to face Broots' computer screen. 

"That's good work Broots, considering the "Chesapeake Bay area" only covers Maryland, Washington, and half of Virginia. You've really earned your paycheck today."

Broots was still struggling with a response when the door to the terminal room gently moved aside to reveal Sydney. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Broots, Miss Parker." He nodded to each in turn as he approached the desk. 

"Well," Parker began as she faced her older team member, "Our esteemed cartographer here has determined that Wonderboy is somewhere south of Canada. I'm having the jet prepped as we speak."

The aging psychologist simply smiled and leaned back as he gathered his thoughts. 

"Jarod's last Pretend relied heavily on reflexes and coordination, so he will be looking for an opportunity to use his mental capabilities this time. Possibly a controlled environment such as a business or administrative office."

"An administrative office, eh, Syd? Sometimes I start to think that you have a dartboard tucked away in your office with vague job descriptions and emotions."

Sydney leaned forward, his elbows resting upon his knees. "You know how this works, Miss Parker. Jarod will let us know where he's going when he wants us to know."

The armed Centre agent frustratedly rubbed her cigarette out in the cheap plastic ash tray on the corner of Broots' desk. Broots doesn't smoke.

"Well, where ever he is, I just hope he's going through as much bureaucratic hell as I am."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A young man, possibly in his early-thirties, with slicked-back jet black hair stepped between a set of double doors. The man wore a neatly-tailored suit beneath a gray overcoat and a laminated identification tag hung loosely from his neck. He stopped before a police officer seated at a small desk. Quickly signing the open book in front of the officer, he continued past before stopping again in the center of a massive lobby. People moved at determined paces all around him, moving from hallway-to-hallway. The man took in his surroundings with a small smile as a rather tall woman with shoulder-length auburn hair approached him.

"Hello, I'm C.J. Cregg." She extended her hand before continuing. "And you must be our new Media Consultant."

The man smiled and shook her hand. "Yes ma'am, I'm Jarod. Jarod Sorkin. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Well, on behalf of myself, my co-workers, and the Administration, welcome to the White House, Jarod."


End file.
